Because They Know
by Briereader
Summary: A small one-shot about the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, a dance, and the difference between hate and love.


It was a different kind of ball that Hogwarts held that night, not a ball of celebrating, but of remembering. The celebrating had already happened, in those months after the final victory over Voldemort. Those months after he switched sides and she saved his life. Today, on the first-year anniversary of the battle of Hogwarts, they mourn the dead. Her friends, lives given to further Harry's cause. His father, whom he killed without regret.

They stood on different sides of the Great Hall, she with her friends and him in the shadows, but both knew where the other was. Both were acutely aware of every movement the other made, every person they talked to.

When had this happened? Neither really knew. Neither really cared, either. If forced to guess, he would say it began in Third year with a well-deserved slap to the face, and finalized with a breathtaking entrance to the Yule ball in Fourth. It took longer for her, caught up as she was with school and her friends, but when he almost reached his breaking point in Sixth year, she noticed.

Strange how two mortal enemies should notice each other like this. Stranger still that this noticing should happen in such a peculiar way… Less noticing than knowing, as if both had a sixth sense that was finely tuned to the other's person.

She pauses now, and looks over at him in the shadows. He's watching her. She knows that. For a moment they watch each-other, and instead of the awkwardness that most would expect, this staring contest seems the most natural thing in the world, as if both belong in that crowd of people, looking at each-other from such different points in life, such different positions in the Hall.

At the same time, they turn and talk to someone else, their eerie synchronization unremarked upon. Unnoticed. They were simply two so different and so similar people, who used to hate each-other with such passion, who know each-other in such a strangely intimate way.

She crosses the room, moving with a fluid, easy grace that had somehow developed at the same time of his noticing. As if it was this grace that had drawn him to her. And perhaps it had. It's not as if much else could have at first. He's been forced to realize that the real reason for his many hateful words and bitter arguments were to build up a wall between the two of them, each insult dropping from his lips meant to be another brick. Another brick to remind himself that there are rules, and they must be obeyed. He wonders if it ever worked.

He moves to the banquet table and takes a glass of champagne, raises it slowly to his lips. She knows that it's the first one he's had all night, unlike her friend Ron, who has had at least three glasses of firewhiskey already. She doesn't know the exact amount, and doesn't really care. It's only him that she notices like that. He takes an elegant sip, but that doesn't surprise her. He's always had a certain cat-like smoothness that she attributes to his pureblood upbringing, but the elegance is new. It came with the pain of his Sixth year, as if it polished some inner light that became noticeable only then.

A new song strikes up. Harry takes Ginny out, and soon only the Golden couple dance. It's as if an unspoken agreement has arisen, that only the heroes should dance. Their own way of saying thank you to the dead. Thank you for it making it possible for us to be here. Thank you for saving us. Thank you.

Ron and Luna take the stage in silence. Neville, knowing his clumsiness, has made the wise decision to stay out of this one, and instead stands next to her as they watch the dance. No-one speaks. There is only the music and the two couples dancing the thank-you's that haven't been able to come. Then he moves out of the shadows, away from the banquet table. Towards her. She knows, even as her eyes follow Ron, Harry, Luna, Ginny. When he stands by her side, she knows the question he is about to ask.

"Yes." She answers, still watching her friends, before he says a word. "I would love to dance with you."

He nods, un-surprised, already having known her answer, unlike Neville, whose mouth has dropped, not only that she would know both that he was there and what question he would ask, but that it would happen at all. They aren't. They both have realized the truth: Instead of bricks, their insults were stitches in a strange sort of tapestry. Bringing them together instead of forcing them apart. Pain can show us the truth in terribly beautiful ways.

As Draco Malfoy, the hero in the shadows, leads Hermione Granger, belle of the ball, out onto the dance floor, a hush falls on the already silent crowd. Harry and Ginny falter momentarily, while Ron and Luna miss a step. Draco and Hermione pretend not to notice as they begin to dance.

The song continues, hauntingly beautiful, while the three pairs dance. No-one speaks, until he bends closer to her and whispers the swear-word that became something else entirely for them.

"Mudblood."

She smiles sadly at him, knowing exactly why he said it. "Ferret."

"It never worked, did it." It's not a question.

"No. Or it did, just not the way we wanted it to."

"I know." And he did. Both of them knew. That was the problem, miracle, beauty of it all. They knew.

The song ends, and they walk to the balcony together, by unspoken agreement. Everyone's eyes follow them out, and for a moment all time seems to stop, only to begin again with another song. Another dance. Another person remembered.

They stand together, looking out on the place where the greatest battle had been fought. Where so many people had died, been wounded, had killed. Where she had taken revenge on the woman who tortured her. Where he had become a hero by saving Harry's life. Where nightmares had been born, where dreams had been realized, where they both learned to stop hating, because they learned that there was nothing to hate but pain and the battle that inevitably follows.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, and they stand there, together, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And when he kisses her, she kisses him back, because it was never bricks but stitches, because it was never hate but love, because both of them know that pain is real, and it drives the strangest people together. Even them.


End file.
